


All Their Favorite Rags are Worn

by orbiting_saturn



Series: panties!kink 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Crossdressing, Het and Slash, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:23:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbiting_saturn/pseuds/orbiting_saturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is, Dean <i>wants</i> someone to see him, even if that someone is his fifteen year old brother who will probably go into paroxysms over his tough-ass brother in a pair of pretty pink panties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Their Favorite Rags are Worn

Rhonda. Fucking. Hurley. What a _bitch_. 

Dean has never really liked thinking of any woman he’s been with as a “bitch”. He doesn’t like the word or the sentiment even when he thinks it might be a little bit justified. And even when Dean can’t always respect the women he’s gone to bed with, he does appreciate them and what they give to him. 

But Rhonda- Rhonda fucking Hurley- was the first to leave him craving this much _more_. She did things, taught Dean things about himself that he’d kind of like to unlearn. And then she blew him off. What a bitch.

Dean wraps his lips around the bottle, tilts it back for a burning wash of whiskey that trickles past the corners and wets his mouth and chin. As he swipes his arm across the slick path the liquor’s made, the sleeve of the satin kimono catches and rasps at his two-day stubble. The material slides and shifts over the bare skin of Dean’s chest, falls into the small of his back with this cool, heavy ease that feels like bliss. 

Falling into the corner of the couch, Dean’s eyes slip closed and he soaks up the sensations. There’s just enough booze in his system to have Dean ultra-sensitized, every nerve ending zinging where fabric shifts fluidly around his flanks and upper thighs. It’s all over the wings of his shoulder blades, teasing the base of his neck, untied sash fallen loose across the inside of his thigh. He feels it everywhere, even the places it doesn’t touch.

Rhonda had slipped out of her bedroom window with this black and pink number tied loosely around her narrow waist, trotted up to his car with her perky tits bouncing under the shiny front of it. It was just barely closed, her pale white skin framed beautifully until the edge fell open just enough to reveal a dusky pink nipple. 

After Rhonda slipped into the backseat with him, it didn’t take long before Dean realized she was naked underneath. Dean demanded she keep it on while he fucked her. The cool glide against his bare chest, under the rough slide of his calloused hands, was just as awesome as the clutch of Rhonda’s warm, wet pussy around his cock. 

“You really love this, don’t you, baby?” Rhonda teased him, breath hot in his ear. “Why don’t you keep it? You’ve been so good for me, baby. You deserve a little gift.”

When Rhonda left him that night, she walked over her lawn on bare feet, naked as the day she was born in the dim night. The kimono stayed in a skin-warmed pile beside Dean. He kept his palm laid over it the entire ride back to his temporary home. He liked that almost as much as the sex musk still hanging in the air. 

Dean shakes himself from his reminiscences, head still fuzzy and cock half hard. Taking another sloppy swig, Dean tucks the bottle between the slight splay of his thighs. The heavy glass feels cool through the satin panties, all snugged up against the weight of his balls. He can see the bulge of his dick straining the sweet wispy material, not quite to the point of spilling out yet, but still pornographic and nasty. 

The trail of dark hair leading into the bubble-gum pink seems off, but all the hotter for it. Dean has always had a dim awareness of his attractiveness, but it’s always been viewed through the way other people react to him. Right now though, alone in the ratty living room of a rundown apartment, Dean sees himself as the one and only decoration. He feels like he looks awesome and slutty and that’s making him drunker than the booze. 

This is what Rhonda fucking Hurley did to him. He wishes she were here right now to stroke him through the silk, to wet the fabric with her tongue, peel the crotch of the panties away and suck at his balls.

Dean’s just about to let himself slip into the memory again, get himself good and hard, leaking enough to make the panties transparent. He wants to jerk himself off through the satin thinking of the way Rhonda’s sharp-nailed finger wriggled into his ass. 

But what Dean wants and what Dean gets rarely align. Instead, he hears the front door open. He tells himself he’s too slow and muzzy to move, too drunk to cover himself up, but that’s not the truth. The truth is, Dean _wants_ someone to see him, wants to be discovered, even if that someone is his fifteen year old brother who will probably go into paroxysms over his tough-ass brother in a pair of pretty pink panties. At least this is one thing he wants that Dean can get. A reaction. 

Instead of rushing for the bedroom or finding something to cover up with, Dean brings the bottle back to his mouth and takes a good pull. His legs fall open just a little wider, displaying his package all wrapped in pink, like a present at princess party. 

Dean doesn’t look up at Sam, but he can feel his presence like a weight on his chest. The kid was supposed to be staying at a friend’s place for the night, so it’s not like Dean planned this tableau. If Sam wants to show up where he’s not supposed to be, he can just damn well deal with what he finds.

Sam takes a breath and Dean thinks he might be gearing up for a good, long laugh. What comes instead is a sigh, heavy and exasperated. “Rhonda fucking Hurley,” Sam growls a little before slamming the front door all the way closed. 

Dean huffs out a mirthless laugh, lifts the bottle in a mock toast before bringing up for another swig. He finally lets himself look up at Sam through his lashes. Sam’s growing into himself finally, putting on muscle, broad shoulders stretching the black tee. The kid finally got up the nerve to steal some clothes that actually fit him and he looks good, looks like he’s going to give Dean a run for his money one day.

“Shit, Dean,” Sam says, walking over to stand right in front of Dean, to look down on him with the coffee table separating them. “What did that girl _do_ to you.”

Dean groans, lets his head fall against the back of the worn sofa. “So many things,” he answers, only slightly slurred. He’s not nearly as drunk as he wants to be. “So many kinky things.”

Sam’s lips quirk humorlessly and he blows at the bangs falling over his forehead. Dean doesn’t know why he’s always doing that, not like a quick gust of hot air is going to do anything to help the situation. “She must’ve been something. I’ve never seen you this messed up over a girl.”

“She’s a _bitch_ ,” Dean declares and spills more whiskey into his mouth.

“Wow,” Sam laughs. “I guess you really _did_ like her.” 

Dean just “pfft”s and takes another sip, licks the sheen of booze from his lips and shifts his hips. He can still feel the satiny stretch against his dick and his brother’s presence isn’t doing much to distract from the pleasurable feel of it. 

“Pretty sure you’ve had enough of that,” Sam says, and suddenly he’s right next to Dean, looming over him, so tall, too tall to be Sammy, Dean’s little brother. Now he’s just this good-looking guy staring down at Dean with a worried crease in his forehead, smiling a little fondly. 

Sam tugs the bottle out of Dean’s loose grip and Dean’s eyes snag on Sam’s forearm. It’s all corded with lanky muscle, extra tan from the southern sun, a pale crescent scar from the skateboarding accident two states back. Dean _loves_ when Sam tries to do normal kid stuff, he pretends he doesn’t because Dad hates it, but he does. 

“Let’s go, drunky. To bed with you,” Sam declares and hooks an arm under Dean’s, heaves him up off the couch. 

On the trip to the bedroom, Sam tries to support Dean without actually touching him too much. Dean is totally okay to walk, but he lets Sam hold on because he can feel the bleed of warm skin through the silky robe. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask why I’m wearing this stuff?” Dean asks, leaning into Sam a little. 

“I was sorta thinking this could be one of those things we don’t talk about,” Sam replies awkwardly. The way that Dean is practically falling into his side, Sam has to wrap an arm around his waist instead of gripping his arm. 

“Wha’s a matter, Sammy? Don’t you think I look pretty?”

“Sure, Dean.” Sam kicks the open door of their shared bedroom wider. It’s dark in here, just the dim yellow of the bathroom bulb filtering weakly down the hallway. “You’re the prettiest girl in the room.”

This place is tiny, just a one-bedroom with a double that Sam and Dean share. When their dad is actually there, he sleeps sacked out on the springy couch. Usually, Dean isn’t crazy about the cramped space, but tonight he thinks it’ll be nice to feel Sam work his way into Dean’s space. It’s always gradual, the way Sam does it. He starts out practically pressed to the wall, relaxes into sleep, limbs going loose and falling onto Dean’s side. By the time they wake, Sam’s just about sprawled over Dean. Dean’s not changing his clothes before bed, he’s going to feel that through the kimono, Sam’s heat’ll make him sweat it sticky against his skin. 

Sam tries to dump Dean on the bed, but Dean clings a little and they both go down. Dean lands on his side, but Sam’s better coordinated and manages to come down in a sit at the edge. Sam huffs a little at how his hand is smooshed under Dean’s flank. When he tugs it loose, Sam’s hand slides flat over Dean’s back, damp palm catching the fabric just enough to make it shift a little. “Where’d you even get this stuff? Is it _hers_?”

There’s something snide and sour in Sam’s tone when he says ‘hers’, and his hand is sort of idly petting across Dean’s back. “Yeah,” Dean sighs, curving his torso so it’s tucked around Sam, the rough brush of Sam’s denim covered thigh scraping Dean’s bare skin, just under his nipple. “It feels nice, huh? Sorta…decadent?”

“Decadent, Dean?” Sam sounds amused. His hand curves around Dean’s shoulder, fingers slip-sliding in this deliciously, tickling way. Dean thinks he can feel it all over. Sam keeps it there, lightly resting, finger pads just ghosting there, like he’s waiting for Dean to tell him to stop. 

Sam leans over and flicks on the bedside lamp. He’s always complaining about how dim it is, just a forty-watt bulb under a nicotine stained shade, barely bright enough to read by. Dean’s thankful for it now though, for the way it warms the room in yellow-orange.

Dean flops onto his back, arms thrown out and robe falling open. He’s lost Sam’s touch on his shoulder, but now he has his eyes skipping over all his bare skin, blushing glances down to where the stretched satin is hugging Dean’s hips and crotch. “Geez, Dean,” Sam sighs, face flushed. “You’re a total hedonist, ya know that?” 

“ _Totally_ ,” Dean agrees with a hum, raising his arms in a long, slow stretch. It ripples all through his chest, bows his spine in an arch that has Sam blinking a little blearily.

It’s a little strange, Dean thinks, performing like this for Sam. It’s not the first time, though. Dean is always doing things to keep Sam’s attention on him and Sam always rises to the bait. Sam’s always been a little jealous of the way Dean looks, it’s always simmered there in his narrow-eyed glares and thin-lipped pouts. Right now though, Sam’s slanted eyes are wide as they get, his lips open and spit shiny like he’s licked them a few hundred times. 

“Why’d she dump you anyway?” Sam asks, wiping his hands against his thighs. Dean sees the way the denim is stretched tight from how Sam’s thighs are splayed. Sam is clean and young, so fresh and kind of fiddling nervously with his clothes, tugging the hem of his t-shirt, pinching and twisting a loose thread on his artfully distressed jeans. 

“You really wanna know?” Dean rasps, bringing a hand down to stroke and push the edge of the kimono over his pec, rub it silkily over his nipple. Dean’s almost fully hard now, the head of his dick is just flirting with the edge of his panties. He lets his hips roll a little, thrusting against the air so the fabric pulls against his flesh. 

Sam glances at Dean’s crotch, just a flicker of his dark eyes before he jerks it away again, a slash of bangs falling over his brow. His little pink tongue flashes out to wet his lips, sharp teeth biting at his pouting lower lip. “Only if you wanna tell me.”

Dean hasn’t felt any embarrassment until right now, but he thinks back to Rhonda- Rhonda fucking Hurley- when she told him what she wanted to do to him. He thinks of how her bright blue eyes stormed over angrily when he denied her. She was a girl who was used to getting her way and Dean can’t remember exactly why he’d said ‘no’, only that it seemed important that he not give in to her. 

“She wanted to-“ Dean starts and stops, bites his lip and flushes, a hot blush he feels down to his chest. He rubs the silk over his nipple again to distract himself. “She wanted to- to fuck me with a strap-on,” he finally confesses in a whispered rush. 

Sam gasps a little, breath shaky. Dean realizes that he’s closed his eyes, a little scared to see Sam’s reaction. He lets himself feel it instead, the way Sam tenses and then forces himself to relax. His brother twists a little on the edge of the bed, thigh pulled back onto the mattress, not quite touching Dean’s side, but near enough he can feel the heat of it. “Yeah?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says back, cracking his eyes just enough to watch Sam through his lashes. His brother reaches out slowly, catches the hem of the kimono between his fingers and thumb, rubs the folded cloth between them. He’s not touching _Dean_ , but it feels like he is, like he wants to. Dean shouldn’t want him to, but he does. 

“And you told her ‘no’?” Sam continues, fingers rubbing and rubbing that satin. Dean doesn’t think Sam knows he’s being watched because otherwise, he wouldn’t be so shamelessly dragging his gaze over Dean. Dean just presses his lips between his teeth and nods his answer. “Why? Why’d you say ‘no’? Were you scared or something?”

“No,” Dean huffs, lets his eyes crack open again, twists his hips a little toward Sam, trying to get a little touch. Sam stays just out of reach. “Not scared, Sammy. I mean, she used her fingers on me a couple times and I liked it.”

Sam makes a sound that Dean can’t quite interpret. He decides not to try.

“But, ya know, she was kind of a bitch. I guess I didn’t think she deserved that.”

The tension between them is laying over Dean like a warm blanket, touching all the exposed parts of him and it’s got him really hot. He feels his dick twitch and finally sneak out of the waistband of his panties, the air hits the wet tip where it’s painting his belly in dribbles of precome. He can’t help the way his hips thrust, can’t help the stifled moan that drags out of him. 

“Want me to leave so you can take care of that?” Sam asks, but his voice is rough and wrecked. 

“Fuck no,” Dean growls, rolls his eyes. “Gimme your hand, you fucking tease.” 

Dean doesn’t wait for Sam to respond, doesn’t wait for him to comply, he snatches Sam’s hand from where it’s still grasping at the kimono and urges it onto his dick. The pressure gets him groaning, arching, panting. Sam’s hand, Sam’s fucking _hand_. It’s so fucking big, spans the full length of Dean’s cock so the fingertips brush the head, the heel presses his base. It’s good, it’s the best ever. 

“I’m the tease?” Sam grits out disbelievingly, squeezes Dean’s dick, palm all hot and damp through the satin crotch. “You’re lying around in your pretty pink panties and _I’m_ the fucking tease?”

Sam kneels up on the bed, gets himself between Dean’s spread thighs without letting up on the pressure. His hand starts to rub, up and down. He cups Dean’s balls in the perfect cradle of his palm and Dean breathes, “Fuck,” because it’s just that good. 

“Do you even know how you look?” Sam asks, sort of angry sounding. His other hand bats Dean’s hand away from where he’s rubbing that silky kimono against his nipple. Sam’s thumb presses into the hard, pink tip and it goes straight to Dean’s heavy balls, snaps his spine into an arch. “So fuckin’ slutty, Dean, you don’t even know.”

Actually, yeah, Dean _does_ know. He feels awesomely whorish with his brother between his thighs, Sam staring down at him with hooded eyes, face glowing with sweat. Dean’s gonna blow, he’s gonna come too soon, so he snatches Sam’s wrist and wrenches his hand away. He grabs himself at the base and squeezes hard enough to hurt, hard enough to stop his climax in its tracks. 

Sam looks like he’s about to complain, but only until Dean pulls Sam’s hand up and sucks the first two fingers into his mouth. Sam’s jaw drops open on a moan, his eyes fixed on Dean’s lips slurping nastily at the long digits. Dean’s tongue swirls, feels the rough callouses and knuckles on the soft, wet flesh of his drooling mouth. Sam tastes like sweat and sweet, like maybe he was eating candy earlier. Sam moans again, punching his hips forward and Dean wonders if he can make his fresh little brother come in his pants just from some suction on his fingers. 

God, it’s filthy. It’s wrong in so many ways that doing this with Sam, his brother, his fucking _brother_ , gets Dean hotter than he ever got with Rhonda Hurley. Dean’s dick is so hard now that the panties are rolling down the length of him, band caught at the base and tight against the rise of his balls. It’s almost tight enough to act as a cockring, gets tighter still when Dean spreads his thighs even wider. 

Sam’s fingers slip from Dean’s mouth with an obscene pop, he nips the tips with his teeth and says, “Put ‘em in me, Sam. Come on, get ‘em in me.”

Sam groans and takes his free hand from Dean’s chest, presses hard into the bulge at his crotch. It draws Dean’s gaze down, and fuck, there’s a huge line of hard dick under the brushed denim stretched over Sam’s crotch. His brother is packing some major pubic inches and Dean feels an absurd swell of pride to go along with the crazy-making lust. 

Dean lunges up to take Sam’s fingers again, makes sure they stay wet while Sam shoves his knees under Dean to tilt his ass up. Sam strokes at the panties pulled taut over Dean’s balls and ass, slow and almost reverent. The tips of his fingers catch in the leg and tug them to the side, just enough to get at Dean’s hole. Dean drools a little over Sam’s fingers and a long line of saliva stretches and snaps when Sam pulls them free. 

They’re both shaking by now. This is _sick_ , it’s wrong and they should stop but they’re not going to. Dean’s always been a kinky fuck, it’s why he got so messed up over Rhonda Hurley, but he never figured Sam was like that too. This is the nastiest thing Dean’s ever done, moaning like a bitch in heat while his brother forces two spit-wet fingers into his ass. The stretch burns so good, too much too fast, but how could Sam know to start with just one? Sam’s probably a virgin. He wouldn’t know unless Dean told him. That shouldn’t be so fucking hot, but it is. 

Sam’s fingers are long enough that they nudge right into Dean’s prostate, leave him keening and gasping, the tight clench of his ass fluttering all around the intrusion. “Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Yeah, Sammy.”

There’s a shift inside, not slick enough to be smooth, but it’s a jerking thrust that gets Dean’s dick twitching and leaking. 

“Fuck, Dean, so fucking tight,” Sam murmurs, all wasted and turned on. Dean did that to him, did it to them both and he can’t get enough of that full feeling, wants more of it. 

All juddering and shaky, Dean twists his torso and fumbles into the nightstand drawer. His fingers scrabble over the slick pages of skin mags until they finally close around the tube he keeps there. “Sammy, Sammy,” Dean mumbles desperately. “Don’t come yet.” 

Dean remembers being fifteen, remembers how the slightest provocation could have him shooting in his shorts. That can’t happen now, Dean needs Sam inside him. This is _why_ , but Dean didn’t know it at the time. This is why Dean didn’t let Rhonda Hurley fuck him with her plastic dick. 

Falling back to the bed with huge gasping breaths, Dean wriggles on Sam’s fingers, pushes against the next few thrusts before he says, “Get your dick out, come on.”

Sam still has the heel of his palm practically crushing his dick. He’s careful when he pulls his fingers out, but it still has Dean whining and twisting. First Sam drags his t-shirt off, the fabric all damp from Sam’s sweat-sheened skin, hair going all wild. Fuck, he’s _hot_. Even hotter when he pulls open his fly and that nice, big dick of his practically busts out when he wriggles his boxers and jeans down the cut of his skinny hips. 

They’re both on the verge of hyperventilating, Dean feels really fucking empty and Sam looks like he’ll fill him up real good. _Incest_. The word just appears in Dean’s brain. It’s the most taboo of taboo things and there’s no reason that should make his dick jump and leak precome, but it does. Fuck, that’s dirty, Dean thinks as he fumbles open the lube. 

It’s already warm from how Dean was clutching the bottle and it comes gushing out with the slightest squeeze. “Hold on tight, Sammy,” Dean pants and strokes his dripping hand all over Sam’s cock. Sam whines and tosses his head. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Sam asks, but it doesn’t seem like he’s aware of it. Doesn’t seem like he’s aware of anything but Dean’s hand on his shaft. 

All night Dean’s been reveling in his sluttiness so he figures, no reason not to go all out. With Sam all slicked up, Dean hooks his hands under his knees and pulls himself wide, displays his ass where the he can feel the panties riding the crack. From the way Sam’s eyes glaze over, it must look awesome. 

That’s all it takes to get his brother to tilt forward, dick strangled at the base while he rubs the head between Dean’s cheeks, over that strip of pink satin. “Fuck, Sam, come on,” Dean grits out, chews on his lips a little. “Fuck me, put your dick in me. God, you got such a pretty dick, gotta feel it.”

When Sam tugs the panties aside, the tip of his thumb dips into Dean’s hole and catches at the rim. It stings amazingly, but it’s gone before Dean can really relish the sensation. Instead he’s got the wet tip of Sam’s dick snugging right up against it. It’s fucking big and when the kid starts to push in Dean feels impossibly stretched.

Sam keeps a stranglehold on his dick until he’s fully seated, removes his fingers just to get that last inch shoved in and his balls flush with Dean’s ass. All Dean can hear is his and Sam’s panting, the drumming beat of his heart. His ass burns like a forest fire, rim splayed open around Sam’s impossible girth. 

Dean’s all folded up under Sam, smashed under the crush of Sam’s pelvis, impaled on that long thick length that’s twitching as furiously as his hole. “Can I move?” Sam asks in a desperate, begging tone that Dean sort of loves. 

“Yeah, fuck me, fuck me hard,” Dean groans and grabs at Sam’s hips to urge him on. 

Sam pulls all the way back, just the head holding Dean open before he slams back in. That full, gritty drag sparks Dean up, gets him mewling with pain and hunger. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, yeah,” Dean starts to babble, mouth fallen open and practically drooling for it.

They’re both so close to the edge already, Sam only gets in five or six thrusts and just one of them nails Dean’s prostate, but that’s all it takes. One glancing blow and a rush of molten fire pours down Dean’s spine, snaps his hips into that next thrust and he’s coming, hot splatters of milky white shooting between them. It’s good and long, pulsing and painting them with jolt after jolt. Dean shouts his way through it, balls snagged almost brutally by the elastic of his panties while Sam fucks the come out of him. 

Sam screws in tight, twisting that hard heavy prick of his so deep Dean can feel it in his guts. His sweating, panting brother stills and lets go, pumps Dean’s ass full of come. Swirling and grinding his hips, Sam rides his orgasm until he starts to soften. That’s when Dean can really feel the warm slick in his ass, Sam’s half-hard cock sliding around in it. So filthy, so good and raunchy. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” Dean grates out, head thrown back while his hips swivel. Sam hisses a little, but doesn’t pull out, lets Dean’s ass clench around his sensitive dick until it makes him collapse. 

They’re stuck together with sweat and come, Sam all loose and heavy, splayed over Dean. And they stay like that for the time it takes to even their breathing, Sam still in him, almost fully soft. When Dean shifts a little, hip joints groaning from the wide spread. The waist of Sam’s jeans is scratching Dean’s thighs raw, but it’s not so bad. 

“Gonna pull out, bro?” Dean rasps, eyes stinging with sweat. Sam’s hot breath is wetting Dean’s neck even more than the sweat and spit he’s smearing around with his lips. 

“Nuh-uh,” Sam mumbles into Dean’s skin. “Gonna stay here ‘til I’m hard again, then I’m gonna fuck you some more.” 

Dean lets his head fall against the mattress, groans low and tired, but that’s pretty fucking hot. He should complain, ask for a break maybe, but he doesn’t because, ya know what? He kinda likes it. 

(End)


End file.
